Ghost Story
by L.Dulac
Summary: Takes place during the early days of the Siege at Terminal City, shortly after Freak Nation. This story introduces a new character, an early escapee of Manticore. Reviews requested.
1. Default Chapter

X5-111

Chapter One

            I always liked Seattle. It was the first major population center I came across when I ran from Manticore.  God, after that place…  I didn't know what to expect.  Nine years locked in a basement, only getting let out for another experiment or, rarely, a walk in the yard with Sandeman after lights out.  Imagine how completely unprepared I was for a modern city!  But I was smart and fast and strong – I figured things out pretty quick.  One thing about Manticore – they were some sick bastards, but even their rejects are survivors.  The digestive track of an X5 can wring nutrition out of rotted garbage just as easily as a gourmet meal.  I laid low, built up some strength, and soaked up the modern world.   I stayed in Seattle for a few months, just long enough to figure a few things out.  Then I started moving again.

            Never thought I'd come back, to be honest.  But my fellow transgenics have started themselves a little trouble out here, and you know how I like a little trouble…

            I've traveled a lot of places in the twenty years since escaping my little basement cell in the Seattle suburbs.  Seen the bright lights of Paris, the crowded streets of New York, the tundra of Alaska, the beaches of California.  I sat at the feet of Lincoln in DC and ran my fingers along the granite Wall, my delicate senses feeling the runes of hundreds of strangers.  But nothing has felt more like freedom to me than the top of the Needle.  I remember climbing it as a boy – feeling instinctively the need for the improved line of sight only high ground can yield.  I barely made it – nine years old, nearly starved, half dead from pure exhaustion.  But when I reached the top and saw the city before me…  The lights, the traffic, the noise, the smog, the people.  I realized then just how much of a cage I had been in.  All I had wanted to was to see some of the world, to actually view the things I could hear outside my window when the other 'nomlies had finally stopped their screaming for the day and, blessedly, slept.  My limited experience could never imagine the wonders I'd see.  I stayed there until dawn, drunk on the sensations of civilization.  I remember catching a pigeon and feasting, barely tasting the raw flesh and feathers, while walking the perimeter and just absorbing the chaotic purity of it all.  

            Naturally, it was the first place I went when I breezed back into town.

            The city wasn't quite the same – the effects of the pulse.  Hard to imagine such a bright and brilliant world could be brought so low by such a simple thing.  The Pike Street Market is still there, and the waterfront looks as busy as ever.  The sound is a little more crowded than I remember – I suppose even in a post-pulse world, waterfront property will always be valuable and someone can always afford it.  The suburbs in the distance don't have as many lights as there used to be, but I already knew that from the drive in.  Once outside of the downtown area, that's where the trouble starts.  Fences cordon off the various sectors, their gates highlighted by cheap sodium lights.  My enhanced vision easily finds the guards, the patrol cars, the hoverdrones, the aircraft.

Sectors…  What have we done to ourselves?  

While my sentimental side is lamenting the current state of this personal symbol of freedom, the tactician part of my brain soaks in all of the details, categorizing them, sorting them, organizing them.  My photographic memory records all of my senses' input.  Some time, some place it'll be needed.  

Once I've gotten a good feel for the general situation, I focus on the particulars of my objective.  Terminal City is a square mile of ugliness on a city that has seen better days.  The perimeter is fenced in, the reminder of a biological incident – what do you think happens to a bunch of bio-gen labs after an electromagnetic pulse destroys all their containment measures and refrigeration?  Thirty yards from the fence the soldiers keep their watch, obviously the first circle of their perimeter.  Another 30 yards from them are the tanks.  But they don't form a perfect circle – too many buildings in the way – they just fill up all of the streets that lead in or out of the place.  Back from them are the cops.  Snipers line some of the roofs.

It looks pretty impressive from a layman's view, but not so much so from mine.  Lot of holes in that circle.  And they're too close – a transgenic can cover 60 yards faster than most of those soldiers could shoulder their weapons.  I'll have to get a closer look for the sewers, but I figure I could get through the human's line without too much trouble.  

No, the trouble will be getting through the transgenics' line.

The transgenic side of the fence is a marvel in its design.  I can barely make out anyone – they're dug in, and dug in well.  Their use of cover and concealment is textbook.  And judging from the fact we're talking about the Manticore textbook, that's pretty damn good.  Knowing how they're trained, I figure that ten clear yards around the inside perimeter is a mine field.  Their fields of fire are clear and channeled.  The transgenics had no problems whatsoever taking down walls and buildings where they interfered with defense.  They're ready.

Seeing the situation, I'm tempted to just walk away from it all – they look like they can handle themselves pretty well.  Militarily, at least.  That line of tanks is no match for a handful of trained X5s, and I'm sure the bunch of mad scientists cooked up all kinds of good stuff after my escape.  Probably up to X10 or something, damned overachievers.

I'll keep observing through tomorrow.  I've got enough fake tan left to cover myself up enough to get a closer look in daylight.  Tomorrow night I think I'll pay my family a long overdue visit.

Getting through the police line was child's play.  I snuck past unobserved, but I could have simply walked through – I don't think their hearts were really in it.  Smoking and joking – its obvious they're just in place for politics.  The tanks were even easier.  Most of them were asleep, curled up in their chairs, relying on the radio to wake them when needed.  I was seriously tempted to swing by the lead tank and give their commander a good dressing down for being such a disgrace.  The final line, the soldiers, they were a bit trickier.  There were more of them, for one thing, and they were at least awake and alert.  All I needed was a few seconds' head start.  I found my spot – the place I figured most likely to be a transgenic guard who, hopefully, wouldn't shoot me, and made my move.  The two soldiers went down quietly – neither knew what had hit them.  The next pair was fifteen yards away, and they didn't hear a thing either.  If I moved fast, I might make it to the fence before they realized the line had been broken.  I check my gear one last time, take a final look around, a deep breath, and then I start running.

A transgenic can run 100 yards in less than three seconds.  Needless to say, I cover the remaining thirty yards faster than the guards can follow.  When I leaped to the top of the fence, that's when they noticed.  I grabbed the top rail of the chainlink and brought my legs into a crouch.  I was twenty feet up.  I had ten yards to clear – nothing to it.  As soon as my feet hit the rail, I sprung out into the darkness.  Shots were firing, but they were firing wild – I was moving too fast for their human eyes to track and their aim was far from the mark.  The transgenics were another story.  Their eyes had taken in everything and had decided to hold their fire.  I stretched my body out as streamlined as possible, willing my body out across the makeshift minefield.  I hit the ground with my hands, collapsed my body into a ball, and rolled back to my feet.  The transgenics had made at least a partial decision and decided to give me some covering fire.  My eye spied a muzzle flash which was instantly imprinted into my spatial awareness.  I changed direction to intercept.  Now that I was behind the manned perimeter of the transgenics, the humans stopped their fire, though an odd shot or two still broke the silence for a few seconds more as one soldier or another tried to release a little unspent tension.  The transgenics stopped firing as one entity, cool and controlled.

I found myself looking at the business end of an M-15 wielded by a 14 year old veteran.  He looked human enough, probably some type of X-series.  He was sure and steady as he kept his distance.

"Who are you?"

"I'm X5-111, kid.  Who're you?"

"Drop your weapons and hands up."  

"Sure kid, whatever you say."  I slowly un-snap my belt and harness, letting the whole thing drop when I slink the straps off my shoulders.  Then I just as slowly put my hands up.  "Why don't you just relax, I'm one of you."

"You don't look like an X5.  You look more like a Polar.  I think your story's full of shit."  Not taking his eyes off of me, he speaks into the microphone that comes down from his left ear.  "Mole.  Got a situation here.  I think we got an imposter."

"Stay tight, Bullet.  Target, Moxie, keep an eye on him," comes the voice at the other end.  Two voices, one male one female, respond with "affirmative."

The boy speaks to me once again, "Stay still.  I will shoot."  The voice is hard.  Too hard for such a young man.

"Don't worry, kid.  I'm in no hurry."

But I don't have to wait for long.  A desert soldier comes up out of the darkness, his worn camouflage barely rustling against his dark scales, an unlit cigar in his mouth and a shotgun in his arms.  He's much older than the boy with the rifle.  A male X-series and a Dog are with him.  

"Who the hell are you, pal?"  Barks the Lizard.

"X5-111.  And who might you be?"

"X5 my ass, pal!  Keep those hands up.  Krit, Joshua, lets get him out of here.  Bullet, good job, get back to perimeter."

The boy crouched back into the darkness and resumed his watch.  The two called Krit and Joshua took up flanking positions around me while the Lizard kept his shotgun on target with my stomach.  I could tell he had seen action.  My hands were zip tied behind my back, a hood put over my head.  I moved out in the darkness, directions given to me by shoves against my shoulders.  

I never really saw the point of blindfolding an X series.  Our spatial awareness is so exact and our hearing so acute we're just like old missile guidance systems – the kind that relied on accelerometers and gyroscopes instead of GPS.  By the time our little convoy comes to a stop I know our exact position in relation to my 14 year old friend as surely as if they had given me a map.  My ears and nose tell me I'm in a large, covered space, probably a former warehouse.  There are four other people in the room besides my three captors.  Smells like one woman, two men, and another hybrid.

"He says he's an X5, but I think he's full of shit.  Don't look like any X5 I've ever seen."

"Take off the hood, Mole." Barks a female voice.  "Lets get a look at him."

Rough hands grab my shoulders and the Lizard pulls off the hood.  A very angry, but pretty, young woman is standing in front of me.  Over her left shoulder is a human, past her right another male X5.  A Cat stands farther back, crouched with her claws showing.  

It's the woman who is in command here.

"Mole's right, no way you're an X5.  So, who the hell are you?  What are you doing here?"

"Well, little lady, it just so happens I am an X5.  My designator is X5-111.  You can check my barcode if you want.  I was the first of you --- "

"Bullshit!" interrupts the Lizard.

"Excuse me!" I counter, using a command voice.  "Before I was interrupted, I was saying I was the first of the X5s.  I was also the first 'nomly of that series."

"Check his bar code," she orders.

I feel a hand on my neck and another pulling down the back of my shirt.  "I don't see anything here."

"I knew it!" barks the Lizard, as the barrels of his shotgun poke between my shoulder blades.

"Look closer.  It's white, just like the rest of me.  It'll show up better under a blacklight, if that will help."

The woman motions for a light.  The Cat gracefully exits and returns with a small wand light and hands it to the woman.  She in turn tosses it to the Dog behind me.

"I'll be damned," Mole whispers.  

"Code!" bellows the Dog.  "Purple under light!"

The woman comes closer, giving me the once over.  "Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm X5-111.  But why don't you ask my old buddy Joshua there.  He's probably the only one who would remember me.  I was a bit before your time, princess."

She looks over my shoulder at the tall Dog.  "Joshua…?"

I can feel the Dog sniffing me, hear his footsteps as he moves behind me, my eyes track him in the peripheral as he slowly circles to my front, looking me up and down as he travels.  

He stops and looks at the girl, then takes one last look at me before answering her.  "Ghost," he whispers.  Then he turns and begins to walk out of the warehouse.  "He is Ghost" he whispers again as he passes the two men and the Cat, pushing open the door marked Exit.


	2. Big Brother's Home

Ghost Story

Chapter Two:  Big Brother's Home

            "What the hell does Ghost mean?"

            "The Ghost is the one who got away, Max," Mole said quietly.  Almost reverently.  Lizards like Mole don't have the musculature in their faces to look surprised or awestruck, but Mole's expression was a good attempt.  He was circling me slowly, memorizing my every characteristic, comparing me, I'm sure, to the rumors and legends he grew up with.  

The most striking thing about my appearance, and of course how I got my name, is that I am totally white.  Not pale, not blond – my skin and hair are the pure white of fresh snow or clouds in summer.  Six feet tall, I'm broader and heavier than later X5s, though still lean and muscled.  I'm like a weight lifter while they are more like martial artists or gymnasts.  I'm dressed in my black battle uniform, tight fitting pants and shirt made of a stretchable 7mm thick weave of low weight fleece and Kevlar, well worn black combat boots on my feet.  I had jumped the perimeter fence with a black weight harness and web belt that carried my gear, but I gave that up to the sentries and they haven't yet been returned.  My head was uncovered.  Usually in combat I cover my skin and hair in dirt or paint to keep from sticking out, but this time I left it untouched to ensure I stood out – hopping a transgenic's fence, I wanted them to make no mistake as to what I was.

            The human was next with the questions.  "Wait a minute!  I thought Max and the other 10 X5s were the first to escape Maniticore."

            "Humph!"  I have to admit, I was a little insulted at that point.  "They locked me in the basement because I was an albino, not because I was incompetent.  Did you think an X5 was just going to sit there quietly his entire life?  My blood, my DNA, is just like theirs," I said, nodding my head at Max and the male X5.  "I have the blood of kings and heroes, did you think I would just rot in a basement?  I escaped when I was nine."

            "Why are you like that?" asked the male, gesturing to my face and hair, obviously referring to me being perfectly white.

            "First things first:  are you going to undo my hands or should I just get myself out?"

            They all looked to the girl, Max, for direction.  Yeah, she's definitely the leader.

            "Untie him," she said.  "Bring him to the ready room."  With that, she turned and started walking towards the exit door.  "Looks like we have one more bonafide Manticore secret to uncover.  Couldn't Lydecker keep track of anything?"  The human fell in behind her.

            The male came around behind me to unlock my cuffs.  "What's your name, kid?"

            "Alec – and don't call me kid."

            "Sure.  Were you an escapee like her, or did you get out in the fire?"

            "Fire – I was after her group.  They got a lot tighter on security when they lost 11 in one night."  He finished with the cuffs.  "There, free as a bird."

            I flexed my arms and rubbed my wrists, though I really didn't need to.  More of a symbolic gesture, and it bought me a few seconds to take a look around.  Mole was still watching me, the Cat kept her distance.

            "Well, my name may be Ghost, but I'm solid enough.  And hungry.  So why don't we find a bite to eat and go meet Max, eh?"  And with that I walk past him and aim towards the exit.

            "Hey, hold on there, Whitey," said Alex, grabbing my shoulder from behind.

            I stop, still looking towards the exit.  "You know, Lola still speaks highly of you, kid."

            "What…?" he stammered, as his hand fell from my shoulder.  "How did you…?

            "Come on, let's not keep the girl waiting."

            He and the others fell in behind me.  "And don't call me kid!"

Alec took me over to get some chow.  It didn't take much convincing for Mole and Cat to find some other duties.  Truth to tell, I wasn't really hungry.  I just wanted to see what they had to eat.  You can judge a lot about a unit by the way they eat.  The level of food service can clue you in on morale, logistics, command and control – every unit I ever inspected, I always toured the chow line.

            Unfortunately, this chow line is not as good as the defenses outside.  But, I told myself, they are just getting themselves together and defense does come first.  Manticore training was very good at military discipline and squad tactics, but they never really felt large company and battalion size leadership was a high priority.  I can tell this group is gonna need some camp management lessons real quick.

            We were in another warehouse style building, this one with a series of makeshift BBQ grilles along one wall tended by four Drones, cooking whatever they could.  But I didn't see much meat on those grills, or any vegetables.  Instead I saw several large pots – that could only mean soup.

            Never a good sign.

            Soup is cheap, easy, and can be made of anything – roots, grains, vegetables, any type of meat.  When things were good, you got some good meat, when things were bad you got shoe leather.  By the smell, I'd say there was a good bit of rat in that soup – so at least they weren't totally desperate.  

I could smell fresh bread -- one of the grills had been made into a crude hearth.  Looks like they were making flatbread, another staple of siege food.  Good thing transgenics have iron stomachs.

"This the only chow line?"

"Nah, we got two others.  This one was just closest.  Bowls are over there," and he pointed to a table by the first grill on the left.

"Nah, I'm good.  Seen what I came to see.  Let's go find your girl, Max."

The way out of the chow hall was the same way we came in.  As we walked, I angled over towards the center of the hall so I could go through the middle of the tables, which were aligned lengthwise with the building.  Arranged in four parallel lines, each table line was about ten tables long, the chairs on either side of them were of every variety, though most were one form of folding chair or another.  With about six chairs a table, the arrangement looked to be able to feed two hundred fifty or so.  Right now, though, it held about thirty younger kids – much like my friend Bullet on perimeter duty.  A few were even younger.  Like the chairs, they were of all shapes and sizes.  Most were human in appearance, the rest obviously Specials.  They were dressed in the remains of Manticore uniforms – funny, I figured they would have changed some in the last twenty five years, but they look like the same grey sweats and cammies I used to wear.  Over on the far table, away from the other kids, were two young girls, still in their teens, nursing infants.  They were sitting together, commiserating.  I went over to them, pulled out a chair, and sat down – my shadow, Alec, following.  

"Hey, man, leave them alone…"

I looked him square in the eye, holding his attention for a second.  It's not that he doesn't trust me with them – he's scared of them.  Unsure of what to do and how to act, he avoids them.  Time to teach these kids leadership isn't all bluster and tactics.  I turned back to the two young mothers.

"How are you girls holding up?"

"Fine, sir," they both replied in unison, unconsciously squaring their shoulders and stiffening their backs, a difficult task given their situation.

I smiled a paternal smile.  "You don't have to call me sir.  My name is Ghost.  I guess I'm sort of your older brother.  What are your names?"

            The brunette answered first, "X5-536, but people call me Gidget, though I don't know why."

            The blond said her name was X5-538, "but they all call me Gilly."

            "Well, I tell you what, Gidget, if I tell you why you got your name, will you tell me your baby's name?"

            "Hell, yeah," she said, smiling.  "Her name is Jenny."

            "Jenny, huh?" I said, gently rubbing the baby girl's fuzzy head.  "Sounds like a fine name for a fine girl.  Well, Gidget was the name of a little girl with brown hair just like yours on TV.  I saw the show a couple of times back before the pulse hit – used to be on Nick-at-Night.  You look just like that little girl – so I figure that's why they call you Gidget."

            "What's a show?" asked Gidget.  "You were around before the pulse?" asked Gilly, incredulously.

            "Oh, yeah, I'm pretty old – see my white hair?"  And they both laughed at that.  I saw Alec through the corner of my eye – it was hard to tell what he was thinking, but his guard was a little lower.

            "And what is your baby's name, Gilly?"

            "Brian," she said, fondly looking down at the baby feeding at her breast.  "He's my little pride and joy."

            I looked at these two – so young, so unprepared for parenthood, so trying to be brave.  What was Manticore thinking?  Then I looked at Alec, and I thought of Max and Joshua and Mole and little Bullet.  Sighing, I stood up.

            "Girls, I tell you what.  I've got some goodies in my pack, but they're checking my gear out right now because I'm new.  But as soon as I get it back, I'll come and see you – sound good?"

            "Sure," they said, again in unison.  "What have you got?" asked Gidget.

            "Something I'm sure you'll both like," I replied, smiling.  "Chocolate."  The very sound of the word was enough to brighten their faces into a beaming blend of happiness, desire, and questioning – they'd obviously never heard of it, but they looked forward to finding out all about it.  "You'll see," I assured them.  "Now you two take care of my little niece and nephew for me, ok?  I'll see you in a little while."  Turning to Alec, "Come on, kid.  I've seen what I need to see."  And he fell in behind me as we walked towards the entrance/exit.

            "Chocolate, huh?" he asked, a slight smirk on his face.  "I hope you brought enough for all of us."

            "None for you – you look like you're getting fat."

            He stopped, stunned.  "What?  Hey, this bod is perfect, Old Man!  And stop calling me kid!"

            "Sure, fatso…" I replied, with a smirk of my own.

            By the time Alec and I arrived, the Ready Room was full.  Max and the human, Alec said his name was Logan, were sitting together watching a computer monitor near the top of the stairwell on the second floor.  Mole and Joshua were talking together quietly, Mole leaning up against the stair's railing.  The room was large, probably forty feet by sixty and two stories tall.  The walls were just the plain corrugated steel, and the floor a concrete slab.  The place was full of equipment and electronics, they lined the walls and a majority of the space on the first floor.  There was an area in the corner, by the stairway, with chairs and a blackboard – a makeshift briefing room.  The second floor only took up about a third of the available space, like a loft.  Its floor was grate steel, the railing made of pipes and steel cable.  Most of the loft was taken up by racks of monitors and desks, with a person manning each monitor – looked to be about ten of them.  A 'Nomly with a monocle and a Drone were busy overseeing everything – the 'Nomly managing the monitor watchstanders and the Drone tinkering with the system.  Wires hang like vines over the entire ensemble.  

            Activity stopped when they noticed me and Alec.

            The 'Nomly turned from his duties and faced us, both of his hands resting on the railing.  "That entrance was quite a show, Newbie."

            "Thanks.  That's quite the set-up.  Can you see the whole of the perimeter here?"

            The Drone looked up from his wires.  "Sure can!  And a whole lot more.  Got the sewers – "

            "Luke!" interrupted Max.  "I'm sure you have something to fix?"

            "Yes, Max," he mumbled, returning to his work.

            Max stood up and came down the stairway, Logan right behind her.  It was the first time I noticed that he wore latex gloves.  Max never took her eyes off of me as she came down the stairs; analyzing me, trying to uncover my secrets.

            "So suspicious, Max.  I figured you'd be glad to see your long lost big brother."

            "Shut it!" she snapped.  "You are on my shit list!  What were you thinking, coming in here like that?  We're on the edge as it is, do you want to push us over it?!"  She was grandstanding – there had been four exchanges of fire in the last two days.  Three were caused by new entrants, one by what looked like a misfire on the police line. 

            Meeting her stare, I replied calmly but with steel in my voice.  "Watch your tone with me, little lady.  I'm hardly the first transgenic to jump the lines, and today's volley was certainly not the first, or the last.  Why don't you say what's really on your mind?"

            She was standing right in front of me now, only a hands' length away, and looking up into my eyes while I looked down into hers.  The others had backed away, clearing a space around us.  The watchstanders were no longer looking at their monitors, nor was Luke working on his wires.  

            "Fine.  You want to know what's bothering me?  You!  You are bothering me!  The last white skinned 'Nomly turned out to be a psycho serial killer.  So just who the hell are you?  What the hell do you want?"

            "I had heard about Kelpie," I replied softly, non-confrontationally.  "That is what finally brought me here."

            I turned away from her, breaking the staring contest, and walked over to the briefing area.  "Kelpie was a terribly troubled soul, Max." I said over my shoulder.  "It saddened me to hear what had happened.  I wish things had been different."

            "Yeah, don't we all," she said, her voice a symphony of anger, sarcasm, and frustration.  "Save the pity party – who are you?  What are you doing here?"

            I pulled out a chair and sat down by the blackboard.  "Well, darlin', have a seat and I'll tell you.  As for you all up there, don't you have a watch to stand?"  

            The 'Nomly and the others turned again to Max.  She nodded and the monocled supervisor got his charges back to work.  Max, Alec, and Logan walked over and took seats in front of me, forming a loose semi-circle, Joshua and Mole stayed standing just outside that small perimeter.

            "OK, 'Big Brother', start talking."

            "First, Max, I think we should talk about you."

            "What about me?"

            "What is your plan?  And don't tell me you don't have one – cause you damn well better."

            "Where do you get off?" Logan barked, coming to his feet.

            Still sitting calmly, I turn my gaze to the bespectacled blond man.  Not just gloves – I can hear the hydraulics on his legs.  What happened to this man, I wonder.  "The time for grandstanding is over, boy, and I'm not your enemy.  Sit down.  Max understands.  She knows what we need to talk about."

            Max sat there, hands on her knees.  She looked tired.  Exhausted.  She turned to look at Logan, the expression on her face a mix of thanks and, almost, relief, but too afraid to put down that burden of leadership or risk cracking the façade she had built up.  "It's OK, Logan," she said softly, almost whispering.  She looked over at me, sat back up and squared her shoulders.  "I don't have a solid plan yet.  I'm just trying to hold everyone together for right now.  Trying to keep the peace."  She looked at me with a renewed defiance.  "Why, you got a better idea?"  I met her gaze calmly, confidently, meeting her hot temper with the cool steel of my resolve and composure.  After a second she looked down at the floor ever so briefly, then back up into my eyes.  Logan was fixated on her, his compassion written in giant letters across his face for anyone who bothered to look.  Good, I thought, she'll need his strength in the days to come.

            I lean towards her, my elbows on my knees, craning my head to look into her eyes, letting my empathy for her show on my face.  I've got to get her to relax and get this burden off of her shoulders for a bit – she's too young, too untried for this type of thing.  But it's obvious she's all these people, my people, have.  "Why don't you tell me what's been happening?"

            Our eyes meet, sees the look on my face, and it's like watching a dam burst.  It all just comes pouring out of her.  The escape from Manticore, the loss of her brother Zack, the pursuit by White, the crisis at Jam Pony, the death of CeCe, the pregnancies, the lack of food, the siege, Kelpie.  Then it starts getting weird – she tells me of the virus that keeps her separate from her lover, of a breeding cult that hunts them, of Minoan runes covering her body, of prophecies and legends and mysteries.  I wonder if she's finally lost it, but the others don't blink an eye.  She's either convinced them all or they believe, maybe even seen for themselves.  Her voice rises and falls, her tempo quickens and slows, as she cycles through anger, determination, disgust and frustration.  I can tell the pride she has in her people, the doubts she has in herself, the uncertainty she has for the future, the hope she's trying to hold onto.

            She never cries, though.  As she talks, she constantly glances at the sandy haired young man with the metal legs, Logan, for reassurance.  He is riveted by her, hovering near her without ever touching her.  The others keep a silent vigil – no one interrupts her, their support filling the distance between them.  These four are her inner circle.  

            When she's finally done, and the torrent of fear and doubt subsides, I get off of my chair and kneel down in front of her, looking into her eyes.  Those beautiful, soulful, brown eyes wet with the tears that are just out of reach, windows to a tired soul.  I put my hand on her shoulder, conveying my support through physical contact.  These kids.  God, these poor kids.  No parents, no support, cast adrift and abandoned by their creators, thrown into the complex world of politics and leadership and parenthood.  Too late, I realize I must have shown too much sympathy on my face.  Her eyes are tearing too fast, her jaw cycling, eyes blinking -- she's going to break.  That little body is too small to contain the amount of emotion welling up inside.    I've got to get her out  – she can't break down like this here, not in right in front of everyone.

            "Come on," I say, bringing us both up to our feet.  "Come with me."  I gesture to the door Alec and I just came in, I follow her as she moves towards it.  The others stand and move to follow.  Firmly, I give the hand signal to stay.  Logan doesn't notice and keeps moving, but Alec grabs him by the shoulder and stops him.  I see them look at each other, but quickly return my focus to Max and getting her outside, away from prying eyes.

            We exit the Ready Room into a short, dimly lit hallway.  I see a door to the right and lead Max by the hand into it.  The room is small, but empty, thank God.  I get her inside and close the door.  She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face, and I put my arms around her.  She collapses into me sobbing, her face buried into my shoulder.  It takes a while, but she finally gets it all out of her system.  As I held her, whispering that it will all be all right, I could only think about what it must be to have children, to have a daughter.  If I ever do, I hope she grows up to be like this girl.  Any parent would be proud to have such a daughter.

            "Who are you?" she asks me, when she's finally cried herself dry.  

I wipe the tears from her cheeks and smile.  "I told you – I'm your older brother, finally come home."  I withdraw slightly, taking my arms away from her, giving her the space she needs to collect herself.  "Come on, get yourself cleaned up a bit.  We're gonna have to go back in there, your people will be worried about you.  I know that young human is"

"Logan," she said, the two syllables bringing warmth and strength back to her voice, a shine to those tired eyes.

"Well, I'm sure Logan is worried about you.  Sneaking away into private rooms with a dashing, older transgenic like me," I say, smiling, teasing a little more strength back into her.

"Yeah, well, a little jealousy won't hurt him," she says, smirking.

"Ok, then.  You ready?"  I move to open the door.

"Yeah…  Wait!"

I stop and turn back to face her, pulling my hand back.  "What is it?"

"Are you going to take command?  I mean, it's obvious you know a lot more about this stuff than I do – I'm really not good at this at all.  I've been a loner all my life, I don't know how to lead these people or take care of them." She looked down to the floor, her voice losing confidence, the cadence of her words accelerating.  "They keep asking me things and looking at me for direction and I got nothing to give them -- we've got little kids and babies, and we're running low on food, and money, and places to sleep and the cops are outside and tanks and they think we're all terrorists and they hate us and the things they say on the TV it's only getting worse and worse and I just don't…"  She slowly looked back up at me, her face had changed from that small defiance to outright pleading in just a few seconds.  Maybe she wasn't ready to go back in there after all.

Facing her, I put my hands on each of her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes.  "Max, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.  You've held these people together, united them in these extraordinary circumstances!  They revere you and they will follow you.  I'm just an old X5 that came in from the cold – they don't know me, they won't trust me.  You are their leader.  You are the president of this freak nation, the warrior queen of this little transgenic kingdom."

"You are doing fine," I reassure her, moving my face closer so our noses are almost touching.  "You got them this far, you'll get them all the way.  Trust yourself.  These problems – you can handle them.  You've got good people here with you, Manticore didn't tolerate slackers.  And I know that young man, Logan, he's with you one hundred percent.  You're not alone in this and you can handle it."

I pull away and move back towards the door, my hand turning the knob.  "Now, come on.  Let's get back to your people.  We got a lot of stuff to do and only a little time to do it."  I open the door and walk through into the hallway.  "I'm here to help you, Max.  Help you and help them.  Once you're all situated, I've got to get back."  Once in the hall, I turn back to look at her.  

She straightens her slouched shoulders, flings her head back, and smiles like a champ going in for another round.  "All right, old man, lets do this."


End file.
